


Clever Little Sparrow

by sammys_lover



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Again... I am very sorry, Also I know I tagged Springtrap Afton and Scraptrap all together, Animatronic Sex (Five Nights at Freddy's), But hes all the same person, Dirty Talk, F/M, FNAF 6, Growling, Horror, I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY FOR MYSELF, I'm Sorry, Light Masochism, Mentions of Murder, Necrophilia, Nicknames, One Shot, Other, Rough Sex, Short, Smut, Spoilers, Stuck and Fucked, Teasing, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vent Sex, Voice Kink, bent over, dOES THIS COUNT AS NECROPHILIA?!, don't look at me, from behind, lots of references, man i dunno, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammys_lover/pseuds/sammys_lover
Summary: You're a reporter who's been working at the newest Fazbear establishment. You want to know what happened there, and why tragedies continue to follow these pizzerias.Then you find one hell of a clue -- or, rather, he finds you.
Relationships: Scraptrap (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader, Springtrap (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader, Springtrap/You, William Afton/Reader, William Afton/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 417





	Clever Little Sparrow

**Author's Note:**

> Listen man, Afton's voice lines got me feelin' some sorta way

You click the “Order cups” option on your computer, looking down and giving all your attention to your notebook. 

You tap your pencil against your chin, looking the whole thing over again. 

You’ve been working in this dump all summer, collecting clues and stories in the attempt to piece together what happened here exactly. 

Well, not HERE, in this little room with two gaping vents on either side of you. In the Fazbear franchise. 

You knew there were murders. Missing children. A man that had dressed in purple. You were so, SO sure that the bodies of this missing kids had been stuffed into animatronics and left to rot – put there by an employee, you presumed. An employee dressed in purple. You had drawings of every animatronic you suspected of being... well, haunted. Pictures. Notes. But as for the innards? You hadn’t the faintest idea. But you knew that whoever made them would know how to shove a corpse in there. 

You look over your little listen of suspects again, humming in thought. The computer makes a little blip sound, and you turn to the motion detectors. The animatronics were... awfully quiet tonight. You shrug, keeping your ears open as you ordered plates. 

Your suspects are the following: 

A man – one Mr. Henry Emily. You assumed he was the owner of the place, but you couldn’t find any official documents to be sure. 

A man you can find no pictures of: Scott Watson. You’ve heard his voice in old tapes – and he seemed to know a lot about the events in question before he... well... 

Like, three Michaels. Different families, different positions here. Nightguard, manager, regular patrons... 

A guy named William Afton, who was your prime suspect – you circled his name with a red hi-lighter. You found a lot of old photographs, and a single damaged audio tape of an interview with him. It’s really a shame that you suspected him the most. You hope it isn’t true – you admired his work and had to admit that when you had spent hours researching him, reading over his papers and blueprints, listening to his interviews, you’d developed a tiny little crush on him. He seemed... interesting. 

And finally, one Mr. Scott Cawthon. He designed each building – he'd certainly hide secrets. Like secret spaces to hide the bodies of children. 

The computer makes a noise, and without looking up, you click on the next item you needed to order. 

There’s only one thing you can’t figure out: a motive. 

Why? 

Why would one of these men kidnap and probably murder at least five innocent children – all under the age of ten? 

Why? 

Too bad most of these people are now dead or missing. You couldn’t question any of them. All you had was a reporter’s mind and intuition. 

You’re about to jot down a few theories and possible motives next to each name when you hear... something odd. A laugh? No, couldn’t be. The only one who liked to laugh at you was Funtime Freddy, and you hadn’t heard a peep out of anyone all night. 

It came from your right – and you turn to look, shutting off your computer and your fan, being as quiet as possible, staring into the blackness of the hole in the wall. 

Y’know, you could probably use the little flashlight on your keychain to SEE in there... and since you hadn’t heard anything from your left in quiet some time... 

You break out your little flashlight, clicking it on and rising from your chair. You wonder why these holes are even here... they don’t do anything. They don’t act as actual vents – no air flows through. 

You’re on your elbows in front of it, and- man it just keeps GOING. 

You decide to wiggle in a little farther, examining the bottom and sides of the narrow little passageway. 

There were different sized claw marks all along the place, a little scratched-on drawing of the sun, and a- 

You gasp. 

“Is that a...handprint?” You feel excitement flood you – oh, maybe if you take a picture you can analyze it and get prints! Actual, real evidence! Oh, imagine if it actually matched one of your suspects! You’ve just- gotta get...a little...closer...! 

You squirm, but it’s no use... you can’t get any closer to it. You lift your arm and try to use your phone to get a photo – the flash goes off once, twice, three times, four... 

You get five pictures, deciding to get a look once you were out of this thing. It’s... a little cramped in there. 

But when you go to wiggle backwards, you find that uh... you’re stuck. 

Oh. 

Shit. 

Well, isn’t this just great? 

Okay, worst-case scenario is that you’ll eventually pass out from the heat that will surely build, and the morning crew will pull you out at like, 7. Best case is you DON’T pass out, and you eventually shimmy free. 

But as for now? 

You’re stucker than stuck. You kick your legs, but they don’t even touch the ground! Ugh, but you have to find some way to- 

*Thud, thud, thud* 

Oh, no. 

*Thud. Thud. Thud.* 

FUCK, FUCK, FCUK- 

You squirm with a new fire when you hear something crawling out of the vent behind you, entering your office-! 

Oh god. 

You stop struggling, going completely silent. God, that thing is probably going to tear your legs off. Then use them to beat you to death. And then eat you. And then put whatever’s left into an animatronic and then put that animatronic into another animatronic, then ship you to another Fazbear location, and then when you arrive????? 

IT’LL SMASH YOU WITH A HAMMER. 

You feel the tension mounting, your heart pounding as you listen with bated breath. Whatever it was sounded like it took a couple steps forward- no, it’s at your desk. It chuckles, and you hear the light rustle of paper. 

It’s either crawling on your desk, or it’s- 

You hear a thoughtful hum, and another page turn. 

It’s reading your notes. 

“Fascinating...what they have become. Isn’t it?” 

Oh god. 

It... spoke? 

Its voice sounds...almost human? No, no, it is human. A little worse for wear, but still human. You thought it sounded almost familiar in a way. Maybe it’s another employee. You sigh in relief- oh, thank fuck. 

“Oh!” You speak up, suddenly feeling much less afraid. “Oh, yeah!” You laugh. “Yeah, those notes of mine – listen, uh, let’s just forget you saw those, okay? It’s nothin’ important.” You hope your lie is enough to convince whoever’s behind you. “Listen uh, I'm actually kinda stuck, so if you c-” A hand lands on your hip. 

It doesn’t feel human. 

Well, not completely. 

You can feel the cold metal and fake fur of an animatronic, but there’s some kind of humanoid component in there. Like someone was wearing one of the old suits. 

You freeze. 

“Uh-” You laugh – but it’s nervous now. “Uh, who is this?” 

“You mean you don’t know?” The man chuckles, his hand fiddling with the hem of your shirt. 

Uuuuh. 

Well, it just hit you like a sack of bricks how vulnerable you are right now. He could do anything to you right now – whoever this is. And while you will admit this had always been a little kink of yours to be fucked while stuck in a wall, you hadn’t imaged that it would be a complete and total stranger who- 

His hand moves from your hip to over the waist of your pants, and down your outer thigh a bit before promptly dropping his feather-light touch. You shiver involuntarily. 

“You’re such a clever little thing. You should know who I am...and you may not recognize me at first, but I assure you, it’s still me...” 

You hear something rumble- maybe it was thunder booming overhead outside. It makes you jump slightly – and one of his hands come around to the front of you, fiddling with the button on your pants. 

“I can taste the fear in your breath. It lingers in the air – what is left to taste, that is.” 

“I’m not afraid.” You answer honestly, squirming a bit as he undoes the button and slowly drags the zipper down as if he were teasing you. 

“Oh, but aren’t you? You see me as a...” You hear a very faint rustling of paper. Yeah, that’s it, bub. Keep touching stuff – if you can keep him distracted, he’ll get sloppy – leave evidence and fingerprints behind. You can use that stuff in your investigation. And help you figure out who this guy is -- later, that is. “Ah, here we are... a ‘chilling figure.’” He laughs a little – his voice is rough, like he hasn’t had a drink of water in years. 

Chilling figure? That was a note you’d set in your notebook, sure, but it’s not like you remember every single thing you’d written about every suspect and person involved. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell...I’ve investigated a lot of chilling figures.” You challenge, stubborn as a mule. 

He chuckles again. It’s low and... admittedly a little attractive. Ugh, maybe it was because it was starting to get stuffy and warm in here you found that as hot as you did. No pun intended. 

“Oh, but I'm not as easily forgotten, my dear.” You hear him adjust where he was. He sounded heavy – maybe it was on account of the animatronic suit he was wearing. He tugs very, very lightly at your pants, not wanting to take them all the way off just yet. 

You think. Hard. Everyone in that notebook is either missing, dead, or completely untraceable. He said he’s not easy to forget- a suspect, probably. Someone you’ve written a lot about. 

He places a hand on your ass, squeezing. 

Then there’s his voice- god, that hauntingly familiar voice. You think back to every strip of audio you’ve listened to in relation to the Fazbear case. You’ve listened to that Scott dude, the phone guy, Afton’s interviews, the extra security tapes- wait. 

Wait, wait, wait. 

He said- 

It’s- 

“William Afton.” you whisper it in disbelief. He went missing years ago – 30 years ago! He’s been presumed dead! 

“What was that, little sparrow? I couldn’t quite hear you – even with these ears.” He laughs lightly as though he’d just told a clever joke, but you pay it no mind. If this really is William Afton, you needed proof. You needed evidence. 

You needed him to get sloppy. 

And the first thing that comes to your mind is letting him... well... 

“William Afton?” You question, voice full of confidence. You try to wiggle free to confront him, and he laughs quietly at your attempts. At least someone’s enjoying themselves... 

“Very good... if there’s one thing to know about me, it’s that I always come back.” You feel your black guard slacks fall down around your ankles, exposing you. You don’t remember what color panties you’d put on that morning – all you knew was that being in this position along with the rising temperature of the room was making you sweat – and... well, his voice didn’t exactly help. It was obviously not the same, but it really is still him, like he’d said. 

He hums in approval at the sight, a finger trailing down the side of your thigh before lifting your leg in his hand – my god, your leg fit in his hand – your pants falling the rest of the way and onto the floor with a clatter. Damn it. Your belt and your keys are attached to those... 

“Anything else I should know about you, Mr. Afton?” You try to mask your little bit of secret excitement, waiting for his answer. Maybe he’d tell you something. 

“Oh, you’re not getting into what’s left of my head that easily, little sparrow. But I must admit...” His now unoccupied hand moved down, running fingertips over your soaked panties. God, that made you squirm more than you care to admit. You’re practically gushing at this point, and you can feel the sweat building up on your thighs and the back of your knees. 

“...You have intrigued me.” 

“How so?” You bite, hoping to keep him talking. 

“I’ve been observing you. Over the course of time you’ve worked here – working in that silly little notebook of yours. And I must admit – you've gotten some things... uncomfortably close to the truth jotted down between those pages.” He’s still stroking you with two of his fingertips as he speaks. They feel thin – almost like bone. 

“I won’t tell you what you’ve guessed – but I will tell you this: you’re missing quite a few pieces of the puzzle.” His fingers tuck under the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side. The air feels warm against your now-exposed lower lips. “Such a clever little thing...” He murmurs, likely to himself, his gaze boring into you. “The only reason you’re alive right now is due to your... let’s call it ‘determination.’ I have not met anyone who has even come close to matching me in a very, very long time.” He draws what sounds like a breath. You shiver as he resumes stroking you. 

“S...so I'm a worthy opponent, then?” 

He hums in approval. 

“I’d planned on seeing what you can really do- oh, but this isn’t a fair fight at all, now is it?” A finger just barely – BARELY dips into you. Not enough to really even penetrate you properly. “...needless to say, my plans...have changed. Seeing you like this... how can I resist?” 

He’s suddenly very rough with your hips, and you feel something else at your entrance replacing his fingers. His cock? A metal rod? The base of a large flashlight? You weren’t sure, but you do know that your hips involuntarily twitch against it. 

“I am here to claim what is left of you.” The object – which, for clarity’s sake, we’ll call his cock, ruts against you. “And now...” He grinds the metal cock against you one more before holding one leg up, pressing the tip of it to your entrance. “You are mine.” 

He presses the cock into you roughly, and you cry out into the vent, clawing at the metal. Oh, whatever that is is just... big. Almost too big. 

He growls, and with what must have been a rough thrust of his hips, you feel the cock slide further inside you – and you can’t help but let out a squeak. 

You’re, for once in your life, at a loss for words. The stretch feels so good and you feel so hot and you felt almost dizzy- ugh, you feel like you’re supposed to be focusing on something. Oh yeah, keeping him distracted. You need every fingerprint and bit of touch-DNA you can get. You- you need evidence – more than just your voice comparison. 

“M-Mr. Afton-” You choke out, resting your forehead on the cool metal of the narrow vent. 

“Oh,” He growls, his hips resting against you as he becomes fully sheathed. “Isn’t that cute? I hope you’re not about to beg me to stop.” 

“No,” You pant as he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly. “I’m not. But I've g-AAH-” He angles the metal cock so it brushes against your G-spot momentarily. “Ahhh-hah-ot questions-”He slams back into you, an almost maniacal laugh leaving him as he begins to set a pace – a nearly brutal one. 

He groans – it's deep and husky and fuck, did it distract you. But not for long. “You don’t think they can wait just a little while?” He gives a particularly rough thrust that makes you yelp, an orgasm building inside you already. Jesus, it just- it hurt so good. 

It takes all your will not to drool, but you manage. 

Ugh, maybe he’s right. You’re hot and tired of staying up all night and now you’re all sweaty and wet and turned on and fuck, if he doesn’t touch your clit the need might drive you mad-! 

He growls as he picks up speed, holding your legs apart for himself as the cock brushed past your G-spot before hitting the deepest reaches of you. 

You pant, desperate to catch your breath, but you can’t- it’s just getting too hot in that damned vent. Maybe if your fan or your AC were on you’d be alright, able to keep a clear headspace, but right now all you could focus on was bumping and grinding against him, your orgasm tight in your lower stomach. 

“W-William,” You moan out, surprising yourself. Jeez, okay, that’ll definitely throw him off. 

He rolls his hips, muttering “Oh, that’s more like it, darling...” followed by a sharp intake of breath and another groan. 

His brutal pace doesn’t falter, and the wetter you become, the lewder the sounds. He just refuses to let up- quiet moans and the occasional growl leaving him. 

Meanwhile, all you can do is claw at the vent and hold on and hope you can keep it together long enough to really keep him distracted- but you- your clit is almost throbbing and you can feel wetness running down your thighs and his hand holding you up and leaving you exposed while he fucks you just- 

You can’t help it- you cry out as you cum, spasming where you are, burning up, grinding against him desperately, not even finished cumming yet when your eyes roll back into your head from the pleasure and you pass out. 

*** 

You awake on the floor, groaning. 

What...happened? 

You sit up, very sore, your pant still on the floor, fresh bruises blooming on your thigh. 

Oh, yeah. 

Well, that’s one more stamp for kink bingo, you guess. 

You stand, putting your pants back on – you'll just worry about EC and showering later- after you gather, erm, evidence. 

You check your little wristwatch – it's about 6:30. Yikes, you were really out. Good thing your little fan was on! Otherwise you woulda fried! 

You lean against the wall, your legs shaky as you pick your notebook up off the- oh. Wait, hold on. It’s been... written in? By someone else. 

There’s a note made beneath your theories of which animatronic models hold the alleged bodies of the children. All it says is: 

“Clever little sparrow.” 

You laugh in disbelief, a small smile on your place. 

Well. 

After just a minute more, when you determine that no other notes were added, you leave that little box of a room after shutting everything off, hopping in your car and securing your notebook in your pack. 

You’ve got a new lead – new evidence. A new boost in your story. 

Another piece of the puzzle has been collected. 

And you’re going back for another one as soon as night falls.


End file.
